to hurt me.
Please. It’s what I truly want, not sweet, but rough, painful, and wild
sex.
The demons of my mind pull me behind the dark door. Ask
him to hurt you. Beg him to hurt you , they tell me. Imagine him hurting
you , they growl. Ian keeps tenderly trying to bring me to an orgasm, and I
know he’s at the brink. I want one so bad, but I can’t do it—not like this!
“It’s okay, Ian, go ahead.”
He knows what I mean, and suddenly he bursts inside of my
body. I lie underneath him and leave my dark desires behind in the closet and
close the door.
Tearfully, I explain my lies. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t…” I
don’t want him to feel like a failure.
He pulls himself out of me. “Hey, open your eyes and look at
me,” he says sweetly. I do. “Is there something I can do to help you?”
“No,” I say. “It’s not you, Ian. It’s me because it’s been
too long since I’ve done this.”
He looks devastated, as if he’s taken advantage of me and
given me nothing in return. “It’s okay, really,” I say, touching the side of
his face with the palm of my hand. All the while I know I can’t tell him why.
Not now. Not like this. Maybe never. I’ll do what I always do. I’ll go home,
fondle myself, and come in the darkness of my desires that I’m too ashamed to
share with another human being.
Chapter 8
Penitence Gone Wrong
When I arrive at work on Monday morning, I’m reminded of
Ian. My poor roses are slowly dying, and I can’t help but wonder if this
flash-fire introduction with the law man is about to suffer a quick death. It’s
time to throw them out, because the petals are falling and making a mess on my
desk.
I pick up the vase and walk to the employee lounge, where
the large, green compost container resides. I open the lid, pull out the dead
flowers, and drop them into the bottom. It saddens me, so I retain one dead
rose and decide to press it between the pages of a book when I get home. After
I wash the vase out, I take it back to my desk. I’m not about to leave a
crystal vase underneath the sink for someone else’s enjoyment.
Feeling in the dumps, I plop on my chair and turn on the
computer. With my letter opener in hand, I start slitting the morning mail open
and reliving the weekend in my mind. I have much to think about, because the
last two days have, for the most part, been a heavenly whirlwind. I reposition
my butt, because I’m embarrassed to admit that I’m actually sore from my
previous night’s activities. Five years of no sex definitely made it a bit
uncomfortable.
Our drive home from Cannon Beach turned out to be pretty
quiet. I think we were both in shock after our unexpected romp on top of the
satin comforter. Ian looked mortified, and I didn’t know how to console the
poor man. His ego was either suffering from not being able to bring me to an
orgasm, or he was sorry he lost it and dragged me to the loft.
To be honest, I was glad that he did. My slut in the closet
has no moral compass anyway, so I felt no guilt over letting him in my pants.
Of course, I predicted he wanted in there all along, and then encouraged him to
enter. As fast as he did me, it was obvious he hadn’t had any in a while
either. I wasn’t surprised he shot it off so fast and left me hanging.
As I think about it, a smile spreads across my face just
remembering the heat of his embrace and that I actually had sex. The dark door
in my mind, where all of my secrets are kept, flies open and fear stares me in
the face. I’m in no mood to be taunted, so I imagine banging the door in the
demon’s face and focusing upon work.
My computer boots up, and I quickly check my personal email
and social page. It’s my usual morning routine of cheating on company hours by
using the Internet. Mr. Stewart doesn’t get in until eight thirty, so it gives
me a half hour to fool around unnoticed. I enter and see I have mail. I scrunch
my nose afraid to look who it’s from. As soon as I click it,
Please. It’s what I truly want, not sweet, but rough, painful, and wild
sex.
The demons of my mind pull me behind the dark door. Ask
him to hurt you. Beg him to hurt you , they tell me. Imagine him hurting
you , they growl. Ian keeps tenderly trying to bring me to an orgasm, and I
know he’s at the brink. I want one so bad, but I can’t do it—not like this!
“It’s okay, Ian, go ahead.”
He knows what I mean, and suddenly he bursts inside of my
body. I lie underneath him and leave my dark desires behind in the closet and
close the door.
Tearfully, I explain my lies. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t…” I
don’t want him to feel like a failure.
He pulls himself out of me. “Hey, open your eyes and look at
me,” he says sweetly. I do. “Is there something I can do to help you?”
“No,” I say. “It’s not you, Ian. It’s me because it’s been
too long since I’ve done this.”
He looks devastated, as if he’s taken advantage of me and
given me nothing in return. “It’s okay, really,” I say, touching the side of
his face with the palm of my hand. All the while I know I can’t tell him why.
Not now. Not like this. Maybe never. I’ll do what I always do. I’ll go home,
fondle myself, and come in the darkness of my desires that I’m too ashamed to
share with another human being.
Chapter 8
Penitence Gone Wrong
When I arrive at work on Monday morning, I’m reminded of
Ian. My poor roses are slowly dying, and I can’t help but wonder if this
flash-fire introduction with the law man is about to suffer a quick death. It’s
time to throw them out, because the petals are falling and making a mess on my
desk.
I pick up the vase and walk to the employee lounge, where
the large, green compost container resides. I open the lid, pull out the dead
flowers, and drop them into the bottom. It saddens me, so I retain one dead
rose and decide to press it between the pages of a book when I get home. After
I wash the vase out, I take it back to my desk. I’m not about to leave a
crystal vase underneath the sink for someone else’s enjoyment.
Feeling in the dumps, I plop on my chair and turn on the
computer. With my letter opener in hand, I start slitting the morning mail open
and reliving the weekend in my mind. I have much to think about, because the
last two days have, for the most part, been a heavenly whirlwind. I reposition
my butt, because I’m embarrassed to admit that I’m actually sore from my
previous night’s activities. Five years of no sex definitely made it a bit
uncomfortable.
Our drive home from Cannon Beach turned out to be pretty
quiet. I think we were both in shock after our unexpected romp on top of the
satin comforter. Ian looked mortified, and I didn’t know how to console the
poor man. His ego was either suffering from not being able to bring me to an
orgasm, or he was sorry he lost it and dragged me to the loft.
To be honest, I was glad that he did. My slut in the closet
has no moral compass anyway, so I felt no guilt over letting him in my pants.
Of course, I predicted he wanted in there all along, and then encouraged him to
enter. As fast as he did me, it was obvious he hadn’t had any in a while
either. I wasn’t surprised he shot it off so fast and left me hanging.
As I think about it, a smile spreads across my face just
remembering the heat of his embrace and that I actually had sex. The dark door
in my mind, where all of my secrets are kept, flies open and fear stares me in
the face. I’m in no mood to be taunted, so I imagine banging the door in the
demon’s face and focusing upon work.
My computer boots up, and I quickly check my personal email
and social page. It’s my usual morning routine of cheating on company hours by
using the Internet. Mr. Stewart doesn’t get in until eight thirty, so it gives
me a half hour to fool around unnoticed. I enter and see I have mail. I scrunch
my nose afraid to look who it’s from. As soon as I click it,
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